Procrastinating, Kingdom Saving, and all other forms of Geekdom

Fantasy Football 13

It’s that time again. It’s time for the next installment of the blog hopping story by Matticus and I. We hope that you’re enjoying the ride so far. If you need to catch up, the rest of the parts can be found here.

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Coach Sprout called for the offense to gather around him. They were going for a two point conversion. The score was currently thirty-three to twenty-six in favor of Plex’s team. That was a seven point difference. If they kicked the extra point, and made it an eight point difference, that would still allow the opposing team to tie the game with one touchdown, provided the other team scored a two point conversion afterward. If Plex’s team scored on their own two pointer right now, they would force Gilania’s team to score twice in order to take the lead.

Plex’s emotions were still mixed. He wanted to win the game. His survival was dependent upon winning the game. Yet, winning the game meant possibly dooming his sister to death. He wanted to keep the score close in order to make certain that he remained safe, but winning had to be his highest priority. He had to get his team the two points right now and hope that Gilania’s team added to their score before the game was over.

He looked over at the bench and saw that Glavven was still being worked on by the healer. There was no way the minotaur would be able to go in for this play. The two point conversion would rest squarely on his shoulders.

Sprout told them the play he wanted them to run and Plex led them out to the field. He got his players lined up the way they should be. Plex surveyed the defense and had a pretty good idea of what they were going to do. The quarterback called out the snap count as he stood in the shotgun formation. His hands wrapped around the ball after it hit his hands. Two steps back and Plex looked to his right at his elven receiver.
He wanted to give his receiver a chance to redeem himself after falling down on the interception. The confidence that would build up in the elf would serve them well in any future games. Unfortunately, Foyarlen, the elven receiver was being defended well. Plex wasn’t going to force the ball in there just to make Foyarlen feel better.

He had to step to his left to avoid a pass rusher. Another was coming from behind him, but he felt that more than saw it. Plex took two steps forward, keeping his eyes upfield at his other receivers. Baclem, the troll, was covered as well. Traag, his ogre tight end, managed to get a step on his defender on a crossing route. Plex threw it just before a large defensive lineman hit his back.

His eyes stayed on target as he fell to the ground. The ball was on target, though he led the ogre a little bit more than he would have liked to ensure that the defensive back couldn’t get his hands on the ball. Traag reached out and the ball hit him right on the hands. It popped up and Plex’s heart jumped into his throat. The ball fell down and the ogre’s hands looked like they were about to wrap around it.

Then, his view was blocked by one of his offensive linemen stepping in front of him. Plex braced for impact just before slamming into the ground. The weight of the tackler forced the air from his lungs but Plex stayed calm and was breathing normally again before he’d jumped up to see how the play turned out. He saw Traag dancing in the end zone, the football waving above the ogre’s head held tightly in one hand.

Plex moved into the end zone and congratulated Traag on the catch before moving off the field so the game could continue. While the teams were setting up for the new kick off, Foyarlen came to stand next to Plex.

“I would have caught it.”

The statement came in elven and Plex, having gotten used to the common tongue that was used among the team, was momentarily confused by it. “What?”

“It didn’t look like I was open, I understand, but if you had led me like you led the ogre, I would have caught it.”

Plex caught glances from the nearest teammates. He assumed they were wondering why the team of them were talking in elven. Plex switched back to common. He didn’t need any other drama with his team. Worrying about his sister, his own skin, the coach, and Kalant was more than enough already.

“Traag got a step on his defender so that was the safer play.”

Foyarlen continued in elven, “Throw it to me next time. I will catch it.”

Plex sighed. “I’ll throw it wherever I think we have the best chance of being successful as a team. You tell me you would have caught it. That’s fine. Next time, get a step on your defender and then we’ll see.”

“You’ll throw it to me.”

It was more statement than question and Plex didn’t feel like continuing the conversation anymore so he ignored his fellow elf. Foyarlen refused to be put off, though. The receiver stepped between Plex and the field, turning his back on the action, on his team, just as the ball was kicked. Plex tried to look around the receiver but Foyarlen moved in his way again.

“You’ll throw it to me.”

There was a hint of desperation in his compatriot’s voice. Plex didn’t like the sound of it. It seemed like Foyarlen had something more, something personal, at stake than advancing to the next round. They were already winning so it wasn’t a need to ensure they weren’t the dragon’s next snack. Plex searched Foyarlen’s eyes for some hint as to what else could be going on but the receiver kept any further emotions hidden.

“Foyarlen. Get over here.”

Coach Sprout pointed at the receiver and then pointed at the patch of ground at the gnome’s feet. Foyarlen said one more time, under his breath, “Throw it to me.” Then the receiver walked over to see what their coach wanted.

On the field, their defense had stopped the return well and the teams were setting up for the first down. Plex glanced toward the giant time glass. Only a minute or so remained in the third quarter. The game was going fast. It was much faster than he was comfortable with. It felt like he had no control over the outcome and all his concerns were slipping beyond his grasp.

That was the way of things under the rule of Lavalandinarial. Everyone was subject to the dragon’s whims. Not much that the dragon did made sense. People had been killed for following Lavalandinarial’s orders because the dragon changed her mind after the fact. Personally, Plex thought there was a method to the madness, that the dragon was purposefully keeping everyone off balance. Just like the dragon pitting the races against one another, there was a reason behind it.

The reason was simple: Lavalandinarial was strengthening her reign.

Chaos and division benefitted the dragon greatly. Lavalandinarial knew that if the people of this world rose up together, there was a chance that they could defeat her. It wasn’t much of a chance, he knew. Lavalandinarial possessed most of the magic out there, on top of being a towering dragon, but there was still a chance. One that Plex was sure that the dragon wasn’t willing to take.

Off to the side, he heard voices raised high enough to be heard over the sounds of the crowd. It was Foyarlen and Coach Sprout. They were having a heated exchange further up the sideline. He didn’t hear the start of the conversation, but he could now.

“You can’t put me on the bench,” Foyarlen hollered. “I have to play.”

“The last time I checked,” Coach Sprout countered, “I was the head coach of this team and it was my decision on who plays and who doesn’t. Not yours.”

In a fit of rage, Foyarlen lunged at the gnome, his hands reaching for the diminutive Sprout’s throat. The coach stepped back to try to avoid it, but elf was just too quick. Plex looked on in shock, not knowing what to do. He was familiar with Foyarlen because of their time on the elven team together. They didn’t really talk about anything outside of football, though. Still, he had always seemed like an even keeled fellow to Plex and Foyarlen’s behavior over the past few minutes contradicted that image. Plex unfroze from his shock and moved to intervene.

His momentary pause might have cost Foyarlen his life.

Before Plex could get to the struggling pair, a dwarven member of Lavalandinarial’s Honor Guard broke into the fight and pulled the elf off Coach Sprout. Foyarlen threw a punch at the dwarf, but he missed high when the dwarf ducked underneath it. Two quick punches, one from each hand, flew from the dwarf. One hit Foyarlen in the gut and the other clipped his chin as he hunched over from the first blow. Foyarlen fell onto his back. The dwarf grabbed him by the hair and dragged him along the sideline until they were in front of the dragon.

With a wicked smile playing across her face, Lavalandinarial reached down casually, plucked Foyarlen up, and dropped the screaming elf into her mouth.

The crowd erupted into cheers, which both confused and angered Plex. He didn’t think it was right to cheer for someone’s death. Then he realized they weren’t cheering for that. They were cheering for the touchdown the opposing team just scored.